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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23207782">lead/follow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerd_of_Camelot/pseuds/Nerd_of_Camelot'>Nerd_of_Camelot</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Black Sheep [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Overwatch (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Child Abuse, Gen, Worldbuilding, nothing graphic but still</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 09:06:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,413</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23207782</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerd_of_Camelot/pseuds/Nerd_of_Camelot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack spent most of his life following and trying not to be led wrong.</p><p>Now, in Phobia, at 20 years old, he's fighting hard to not lead his <em>troops</em> wrong.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Black Sheep [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608928</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>lead/follow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“― do I make myself clear?”</p><p>Jack wasn’t used to giving orders.</p><p>He wasn’t used to people listening to him, to people nodding along and accepting his advice. He wasn’t used to being able to tell dozens of men more skilled and objectively more terrifying than he was exactly what to do and where to go…</p><p>… And yet, here he was.</p><p>Here he was, eyes raking over the men in front of him, all of whom had been nothing but loyal and trusting of his judgement. And sure, their official orders came from higher up the ladder, but he was still the leader of this group. And that was weird.</p><p>He met their eyes, all of their eyes one after the other, and heard a unanimous, “Crystal, sir!”</p><p>And perhaps he was selling himself short, saying this group of men was more skilled than he was, more terrifying than he was. Many of them were just regular soldiers, thrown into the Bane Division (a sort of glorified, massive combination of strike teams) with him when he was promoted and transferred because he needed loyal soldiers behind him, didn’t he? A couple of them had gone through the SEP―he remembered those ones. Ones who had gone through the same battery of experiments as Genji, or as Jesse, or as Reyes.</p><p>None who had gone through the same as he had.</p><p>That was not exactly privileged knowledge, of course―Jack was the only person who survived that particular battery of experiments. Everyone knew.</p><p>And though many of the men here who <em> had </em> gone through the SEP were incredibly strong and definitely terrifying, they’d all been given… Abilities. Superior speed and endurance, unmatched strength, improved eyesight and breath control, rapid healing and recovery… All in varying degrees of potency.</p><p>Jack didn’t have any of that.</p><p>None of it.</p><p>And, really? Jack was pretty sure that made him worlds more terrifying than the others. He’d endured the agony of SEP injections, <em> lived through </em> a set of tests <em> 49 other men </em> had died undergoing, and he was <em> thriving </em> and well ahead of the rest of the SEP (barring Genji, Jesse, Reyes, and a handful of others) in rank. And on top of that, he was better trained than most of them―he had <em> Genji </em> to teach him, after all.</p><p>Still, it was odd to be in this position.</p><p>Trusted, looked up to, <em> listened </em> to. Every man in this group lived and died by his orders and they trusted him to know what he was doing.</p><p>He was <em> twenty </em> and that was a lot to deal with.</p><p>… But he hadn’t led them wrong yet.</p><p>And he didn’t have any intentions to lead them wrong now.</p><p>“Good.” He said, “You have your orders, then―move.”</p><p>And his squadron gave him a simultaneous salute, and they were on the move.</p><p>He went at their heels.</p><p>He would not lead them wrong.</p>
<hr/><p>Uncle Cain talked a lot about respect, and about responsibility. He liked to remind Jack that he was the adult between them, that he was to be respected. That his word was law and he had the responsibility to provide for the household. That <em> Jack </em> was just a kid, a kid he hadn’t <em> wanted, </em> and that Jack was on a short rope. Always on a short rope. He had a responsibility to do what was told and make sure things kept running smoothly in the house despite his “interruption” in Cain and Courtney’s life.</p><p>Which meant he couldn’t have friends over unless they were the quietest kids on the planet. He couldn’t, even <em> genuinely, </em> forget to do his homework. He couldn’t go out with anyone if he didn’t have a ride back, unless he was willing to walk. And after 8pm he wasn’t to be seen anywhere but his room, the hallway, or the bathroom, and it was highly preferred if he was only seen in his room.</p><p>Or, really, not seen at all.</p><p>He couldn’t listen to music without headphones, couldn’t watch movies, couldn't have food in his room…</p><p>A lot of rules he didn’t ever understand or agree with, but complied with because he didn’t want Uncle Cain any angrier at him than he already was.</p><p>“Do I make myself clear?”</p><p>Jack met his eyes, clenched his jaw. Tried to find <em> something </em> in his uncle’s eyes. Anything. Anything that would tell him he was playing a cruel joke, or that he didn’t <em> want </em> to be doing this. That maybe there was a <em> reason. </em></p><p>But there wasn’t anything there―nothing at all.</p><p>Just blankness, with an undertone of the same familiar anger Jack had been seeing in him all his life.</p><p>How could his uncle, his <em> father’s brother, </em> be so cold? How could he hate him this much? Jack understood he’d never wanted kids, he resented being defaulted to to raise a child he didn’t want. He understood he didn’t want things to change just because Jack was here.</p><p>“I said,” Hissed his uncle, <em> “Do I make myself clear, boy?” </em></p><p>And Jack bit back the desire to spit, to yell. To even hiss back.</p><p>His parents had raised him to stand up for himself, <em> always, </em> against <em> anyone. </em> Age and title didn’t matter―if he felt threatened or short-changed, he needed to take a stand. He needed to pick his battles, yes, but he needed to avoid making himself an easy target. Avoid being an easy target, make sure he was respected as he was expected to respect others.</p><p>Mom would want him to give Uncle Cain what-for. She’d want him to tell Uncle Cain he was being unfair, he was being <em> ridiculous. </em> If need be, she’d want him to punch the man right in his blank face.</p><p>… But he couldn’t do that.</p><p>Uncle Cain wouldn’t hesitate to kick his ribs in and bounce his head off the wall―hadn’t done it <em> yet </em> but wouldn’t hesitate if he talked back <em> now. </em></p><p>“Yes, sir.” Jack said, and he managed not to hiss, but his voice was still tinged with annoyance.</p><p>His cheek stung a moment later, <em> throbbed. </em></p><p>“Watch your <em> tone, </em> boy.”</p><p>“Yes, sir.” He barely suppressed the annoyance this time, kept his eyes on Cain’s.</p><p>Didn’t waver. Couldn’t be forced to waver even if he could be forced to keep quiet.</p><p>He was fourteen, angry, and tired of following orders that didn’t make sense. Tired of being told to do things that his parents would never make him do. Cain was his legal guardian, his <em> uncle, </em> the one in charge of his care and housing, but Jack was running a little (a lot) low on respect for him.</p><p>His cheek throbbed again.</p><p>“Good. Now get.”</p><p>He clenched his jaw against the urge to retort and against the throbbing, turned on his heel, and stalked up to his room. Didn’t stomp. Didn’t slam the door. Went quietly and as peacefully as he could manage. He hated that Aunt Courtney was at the store, right now, but he knew Cain would have eventually passed down this stupid order anyway. He’d have waited until he had another chance away from his wife and her ‘bleeding heart.’</p><p>He dug his phone out of the bottom of his backpack and turned it on, directly against instruction. He wasn’t supposed to have it on unless he was away from home, but… Well. Courtney managed the bills and Cain would never have to know.</p><p>
  <em> “You’re not to see that girl, anymore.” </em>
</p><p>He scoffed under his breath, selecting his conversation history with Katie. She’d messaged him twelve times since he shut his phone off on the way home.</p><p>“Not to see that girl anymore my <em> ass.” </em> He mumbled, texting her to let her know he was okay, he’d made it home safe.</p><p>Katie was his best friend. <em> Not </em> his girlfriend, no matter what Cain said or thought.</p><p>He let her know he wouldn’t be able to ask to hang out with her anymore, because Cain had it in his head that they were dating, and <em> apparently </em> he couldn’t date. It didn’t matter, either way, because strict guardians just made sneaky kids. If he was interested in Katie he wouldn’t dump her just because Cain wanted him to.</p><p>Didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t interested, or that he would continue to hang out with her under the guise of visiting other people.</p><p>He’d figure a way to sneak out of the house and off the property if he had to.</p><p>He wouldn’t be led wrong by Cain. He <em> refused. </em></p>
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